so too, because he beamed with approval when he saw her.
‘Very apt,’ he approved as he looked at her. ‘The jacket has a certain matador air, very much suited to this part of the world, and I must say I’m very pleased with the way that embroidery has worked out. The colour suits you as well.’
‘I thought about the tweed,’ Jessica told him, referring to a tweed suit which was also part of the new collection, ‘but as it doesn’t compare favourably with their fabrics, I thought …’
‘Quite right,’ he approved. ‘Now, I’ve ordered a taxi for us, we’ve just about got time for a cup of coffee before it arrives.’
He looked more like an Old Etonian than a famous designer, Jessica reflected, eyeing his sober Savile Row suit and immaculate silk shirt. Colin belonged to an older generation that believed in dressing correctly and that one could always tell a gentleman by his clothes—Turnbull & Asser shirts and handmade shoes.
The factory was situated just outside Seville, surprisingly modern and with access to the river and the port. It was, as Colin pointed out, very well planned, close to main roads and other facilities, and when he gave in their names at the gates they swung open to allow their vehicle to enter.
They were met in the foyer by a smiling dark-haired young man, dressed formally in a dark suit, his glance for them both extremely respectful, although there was a gleam of male interest in the dark eyes as they discreetly examined Jessica.
Having introduced himself as Ramón Ferres, he told them that he was to escort them round the factory.
‘Unfortunately the Conde cannot show you round himself,’ he explained in the sibilant, liquid English of the Spaniard, ‘but he will be free to have lunch with you as arranged,’ he informed Colin. ‘Forgive me if I stare,’ he added to Jessica, ‘but we did not realise when Señor Weaver mentioned an assistant that he was talking of a woman. I’m afraid you might find the chemical processes of the factory a little boring …’
‘Never,’ Colin interrupted with a chuckle, while Jessica suppressed a tiny flare of anger at their escort’s chauvinistic remark. Of course in Spain things were different. On the whole women were content to take a back seat to live their own lives, especially in the more wealthy families. No doubt someone such as Sebastian de Calvadores’s wife, if indeed he had one, would never dream of interfering in her husband’s life, or of questioning him about it. That was how they were brought up; to be docile and biddable, content with their families and their homes.
‘You’ll find that Jessica is far more knowledgeable about the manufacturing process than I am,’ Colin added to their guide. ‘In fact I suspect she prefers designing fabrics to designing clothes, if the truth were known.’
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